Inhibitions
by Fugitive of Gray
Summary: Take quasi drunken confessions of mass destruction, a raging birthday party full of the extended Fenton family and the sheer amount of chaos that follows with this sort of mess, and you have a front row seat to a starry night full of mayhem and sheer fluff.


They sat perched on the roof that night. It was altogether unsurprising that the full moon shone for Sam and Danny. The wind rustled quietly through the large oak surrounding his house, which would have been very quiet and peaceful if it were not for the wild party raging below that neither teenager had any intention to rejoin. In an atmosphere like this, prolific speeches were entirely in place, and encouraged, if not a little too much so. "I dream of apocalyptic wastelands, you know," Sam drawled.

"You don't say," Danny replied smoothly. This marked the third time that night that she had muttered about making humanity her bitch, but he wasn't quite worried yet. They'd ran up here to escape the noise, and just because she was looking as shifty as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs didn't mean that they would ruin the moment. "Is this just some Gothic thing or should I actually be worried about that comment?"

"Terrified, you should be terrified." Sam corrected. Although he wasn't looking at her he could sense her wagging finger and the fact that she was falling all over herself, nearly unconscious from spiked punch. His eyes dart innocuously. She was, in fact, spread eagle on her back looking up to the night sky. Against his better judgment his eyes linger longer than they should on the curve of her tight black dress against her slim frame. It hugged in all the right places and still managed to turn her into a malevolent shroud of darkness in one fell swoop; the whole shtick was sensible, elegant and Gothic: just like her.

Danny tried to sooth his turbulent mind. Ever since Valarie didn't work out he hadn't dated. The feeling of a girl in his arms sent shivers down his spine. Something about damsels in distress and super heroes he supposed.

"'Cause I'm going to send out a super bug into the atmosphere and you're all gonna die!" She blurted out. Danny couldn't stifle a smile that infectiously spread across his face. She was shaking her fist at the sky now, and looking quite ridiculous. (and remarkably like an octopus…)

"No, you're not," Danny scoffed.

She shot up, gasping with her hand to her chest as if he'd shot her. "What! Do you doubt that I would eliminate humanity to save the environment from mankind?" She flops back on the ground, splaying out corpse style.

"Uh, yeah." He deadpanned.

"MhhIhate you." She huffed. Danny almost shot back a retort when she streaked into his personal space. (With a conspicuous sounding rip he might add.) Sam swung her legs over his outstretched ones and scooted into his lap. He went bright red. "Well I've got some goddamn experience in overrunning mankind thank you very much. You shouldn't underestimate my ability to decimate and conquer." She snorted, then bopped him on the nose with the tip of her delicate finger.

"I imagine you do." Danny breathed. His chest had gotten very tight all of a sudden.

Sam got a fiendish look in her eye, sitting on his lap. "Hey Danny?" She asked with mock innocence. Danny debated his life choices leading up to this moment, particularly the one that involved letting Dash come to his sister's birthday party and letting him spike the punch. Jazz called it "making peace", Danny disrespectfully disagreed. Plus there were already plenty of crazy uncles and cousins all dressed to the nines in neon colored jumpsuits to drive them crazy, so seriously, they were covered. (No need to invite the no-necks, really.) Danny jumped back to reality with Sam giving him a curious look. "You all there?"

She was altogether too close for comfort, like, really, really close. Danny started to struggle away from her, "I'm good, perfectly fine, please get off me."

She cackled. The harpy. "Uh, no. You know, I like it here."

"No you don't, I'm bony Sam, get off."

"Uh huh." She said, yawning for effect and stretching out her porcelain uncovered legs outwards. She leaned her arms back and encircled them in Danny's hair; her head rested in the crook of his neck. He was completely frozen as she snuggled into place.

"Don't push me Sam, because woman, I will cut you." He hissed. Breath was unable to be taken in with the familiar black bob hovering by his mouth. It took nearly all he had to not relent and nuzzle in, but he just couldn't take advantage of her in her intoxicated stage.

"Make me." She whispered, sultry as black velvet. Wait, wait, hold up a second? Sam was sultry? Since when…

He relented backwards, "Fine." He said softly. Then he twisted as hard as he could to the side, flipping them both end over end tumbling right down the side of the angled masonry. Shit. The roof. Suddenly it was just open air underneath them. Sam started to scream and Danny changed. They plummeted downwards until his strong flying pulled them to a dead stop midair.

Her eyes were closed tight as they started to go upwards again. His breath was cold on her neck and she swore she could feel bushes brushing her ankles a second ago. "Nice job, hotshot," she said, voice sounding clearer despite being breathless.

"For the record, you started it." His echoey voice replied breezily. Shaken but not stirred.

She growls while letting herself be held limply, "I am going to kill you fully you half dead son of a bitch."

He barked a laugh and pulled her closer, "Why Sammy, a second ago you were clamoring into my lap."

Sam went quiet for a second as they ascended, "No I wasn't, the hell are you talking about! Why are you clutching me so tightly Danny?" She shot back.

"I don't know, because you almost made us fall to our death from the top of my house. Really Sam, you want Jazz to find us crumpled in a heap in the backyard during her birthday party?"

"Oh Danny, you wouldn't have let us die!" She said all too loud, suddenly drunkenly chipper again.

"Not this time… but don't you want to join me behind the veil though? Isn't that another Goth thing?" He asked, feeling woefully under informed. It wasn't his fault that Sam didn't talk about her dark abode much outside of her blog.

Sam held up a constrained arm, "No," She corrected, "I want to watch the world burn in unholy fire while watching, not burn with it. Slightly different." She slurred.

He chuckled as they stopped going upwards. They were slightly above the Ops center now, just floating in midair. No point in going any higher, and besides, the view was pretty good. "Whoa there, zigzagging into Satanism there, I'd have to protest about that."

"But Satanism is cool Danny, you know our dark lord actually accepts us for who we are." Sam pouts.

"So not hearing this."

Sam just laughs and they float in silence. It's getting close to midnight, and the moon crept to the top of the sky. The wind would be cold for her actually, he realized. Danny moved a careful hand to the girl's arm, it was slightly chilled. She noticed this and craned her neck to look up at him.

"What?" She asked. He stopped his tender hand dead in its tracks.

"What?" He countered swiftly, looking back upwards to evade her curious look.

She gave him a look. "You're making no sense Danny." She deadpanned.

He felt languid, breathing in both Sam and his response – but suddenly he felt the sharp pain of a substantial ectoblast nailing him in the back.

He wheeled forward, but he didn't let go, couldn't let go. It stung, and really, that's what he got for flying in dead air above a _ghost hunters _party. _Really Fenton ? _ He gave his head a shake. His drunken mistress (of darkness) was looking slightly shaken as well, and had her claw-like nails firmly embedded in his jumpsuit – not that she meant to, of course.

"Look Daddy, I hit it!" A child's voice rang, not much older than 7. Danny reeled at the source, long behold a father and son pair were bonding on the roof of the ops-center. Figures.

"That's good Jimmy, but he didn't go down. Looks like we need the big guy for this one." The proud father in bright green said to his yellow suited son. He promptly yanked out a gun about twice the size of the previous one, temporarily breaking the laws of physics and resting it on the railing, letting his son aim and fire. The kid did so with vigor.

Three more shots came, and Danny went low, swooping under the ops-center while Sam dug her face into his neck, the kid kept firing though, nearly grazing him as he went round and underneath the other side. He hugged close to the building, well away from windows, and heard the pair stomp to their location, the excited cries of the child mingling with the father's mild disappointment that they'd gone. He lets out a breath, and belatedly realizes that he'd been crushing Sam's mouth to his chest. She wrestled free, gasping for air.

There was no air, he realized dumbly. He resisted clapping his hand to his face. Really, there should be a manual for how to hold the drunk girl in the midst of an air-strike. Danny figured it would sell well. She wheezed, "Will you stop throwing me around!"

"Sorry Sam, I'll try to make it a smoother ride the next time _we're nearly shot out of the sky_." He retorts, then grumbles, "Nearly died dammit, be grateful, woman!"

Sam barked a laugh, clearly not sympathizing with him like she should be, "Well maybe we shouldn't, you know, be flying period in a virtual no fly zone of your crazy relatives." She shot back.

Danny snorted. He really couldn't help it. "Not sure how that happened, really!" He weakly defended.

Sam gave him a look.

They both burst out into laughter – the wonderful, side-splitting kind that had Danny gasping for breath, and Sam cackling un-controllably as she sort of forgot to hold on.

Subsequently, they lost about 5 meters of air, reduced to just breathing.

Danny got his head again then, for some reason, as he remembered that they probably shouldn't be so loud. He carefully tried to quiet Sam down, she smiled at him.

"Gee Danny, you didn't tell me that we would have to be so covert-ops about this."

"Who the hell knew, right?" He guffawed, not meaning to lean down, really.

"Like they would shoot at _us _anyways"

"Totally. Unlikely as hell."

It took a second for the moment to break out into insufferable giggles again, and they were cackling nearly as loud as before. He couldn't find it in himself to care that they slowly descended in the process. He got closer and laughed till he cried over her shoulder, leaning on her as if she was more solid than him.

Hardly anything made sense thus far in what had become a very strange night, but somehow, that did.

It stopped his giggles in his throat, calming them gently until nothing remained except breathing again. Sam's still resounded into throaty cackles, but he had his doubts that she was able to stop at all.

They paused, leaned back.

"You know, if we don't want to get shot again, that probably means going somewhere that isn't fair game for your little cousin Billy to play target practice." Sam reasoned.

Danny mock gasped, "Heresy, woman! What if I like the excitement that life brings of near death experiences."

Sam flails to thump him in the shoulder, "Liar!"

The ghost boy shrugs his shoulders.

"Well that _would_ explain a lot,"

"Sure would. Although I would like to think that it's danger that's drawn to me and not the other way around."

"Sure, because you're mister irresistible."

"Damn right."

Again, she nearly cuffs him, but she resists, her hand weakly landing on his shoulder. Sam lets out a grand, annoyed sigh.

"Fucking hell Danny, I just thought of something."

He raises an eyebrow, "What."

"The safest place in this whole mad-house isn't the party is it? Because we could always hole up in the basement and hope they all go away, right?"

Danny narrows his eyes, "No, you're not really insinuating..."

"We're only four feet from the ground, you know."

He doesn't look. "Liar."

She claws his fingers from her waist and jumps the distance that would have killed her a minute ago. He cocks his head.

"Yeah, well…" he stutters.

She twirls in the spot, "If you aren't going to keep me safe from the big bad hunters I think that I'll have to find my own sanctuary down here with the savages." She trills.

"You wouldn't." Danny changes immediately, dropping the short distance beside her. "They aren't going to be merciful. My family gets crazier the more removed in the tree they are."

"Be my safari guide then." She suggests, swaying as she tries to grab his hand. He lets her, but that doesn't mean that they're holding hands. It's like the buddy system.

Danny relents, "Well, my aunts and uncles try to color code the little ones – I know, ingenious right – so if they have a blue jumpsuit on, they _might _not bite you, but if it's a pink one, you _do not approach that little monster. _Ever. Especially cousin Bobby, he will fuck you up."

Sam nodded, not swaying into him, for the record, mainly just letting him do all of the walking, and just aiming them towards the glass doors, listening to him ticking off the signs that small children look for to determine if you are weak, and therefore attackable.

They enter the affair hand in hand, probably with much less stealth than they were going for.

The Fenton living room had become something like a swimming pool at some point; if in fact, a swimming pool was neon colored and yammered loudly on about ghosts. It could be gathered at this point that Jack Fenton was not a unique man – whether or not that was a threat to national security was still up for debate. He was in the fold somewhere, out there, but money was on that he was by the ghost shaped piñata.

The lone ranger observed this chaos as he monopolized the chip bowl – the only safe place remaining as it happened. Indeed, it was Jazz's birthday party, but that also made it a Fenton birthday party, and Jazz's sensibilities were entirely overshadowed. Money was also on that the birthday girl was hiding in the bathroom. Tucker couldn't help but be slightly amused with all of this (when he wasn't terrified for his life). Hell, Danny and Sam had snuck off together, Tucker had to be a little optimistic about his current predicament.

Also somebody had spiked the punch and some of Jack's extended family were hilarious totally hammered.

Tucker settled on taking pictures of the strange crowd. Things were somehow more comfortable through the lens of Susan. Several purple suited gremlins were chasing each other (Tucker recalled Danny mentioning that meant they were not to be given sugar under any circumstances…) around a group of laughing ladies with comically large weapons on their backs. The children blurred his lens, now running past Dash, who was sulking and wondering why he had agreed to this, probably.

Tucker laughed at that, snapping the shot. He'd been a victim of Sam's shockingly thorough blackmail collection enough times to always be in possession of some incriminating shots.

He continues following the gremlins through the crowd, weaving through with the seasoning of veterans that he felt vaguely jealous of. They scamper out of view, but as nearly sought out a new target, two familiar fiends stumble in.

Tucker smiles, straightening his horribly mismatched sweater vest. _The prodigal son and daughter have returned. _ Show time.

He abandons the chip bowl on the counter (made bittersweet by the knowledge that he would never see it again), then breaks into a full stagger across the room. He's all elbows through the crowd, and even pushes past Dash, who half-heartedly yells at him.

Danny and Sam are at the entrance to the basement before stopping awkwardly, nearly falling all over each other. Sam takes the opportune moment to smack Danny over the head, he nearly dodges, looking hunted.

Tucker, taking his chances when he can get them, sneaked around the other side and happily nailed him over the top. Danny reels around this time, but sees him and perks up.

"Compliments to the chef!" Tucker belts out, Sam sees him and sways happily, Danny looks at him like he's grown two heads. The black boy then adds softly, "Glad to see that you've come back to join us mere-mortals making a living on the dance-floor."

"We respect your lifestyle." Sam says to him. "The chef can bite me! We got PUNCH!" She yells, apparently to the onlookers.

"Not when you're making out on the roof you don't. Cousins are making waves amigo, you keep sneaking off and the parents will be notified." He whispers while swaying obviously.

"No we weren't!" Danny stammers. Sam is a little more cool.

"Sorry for not being more subtle."

The ghost-boy looks incredulous. "I – I'm missing something aren't I?"

Tucker smirks at Sam. "I'd say so. Don't you know that nobody bothers the drunks?"

The ghost boy takes in a breath, "Oh." The thought simmers. "Oh!" He says as it sinks in. "So you aren't…?"

"Honestly dude, the risk of my parents finding out that I've been drinking at _a Fenton birthday party _far outweighs the benefits."

Sam snakes a hand onto Danny's shoulder, adding, "Plus, I'd be wondering about what the punch was made of in the first place, never mind what Dash spiked it with."

Tucker laughs, "Hah, that was Dash? I thought I saw him glowering around here. He didn't get a dance with the birthday girl did he?"

The goth shakes her head, "She's been solidly avoiding him, spent some more time than necessary in the bathroom last time I checked. She brought ill-advised friends home with her from college as well, I think they're around here somewhere as well."

"Ah, and they're well acquainted by now?"

"Very."

"Alright, alright!" Danny cuts in. He deftly dodges a creep stick launched at the back of his head. It pipes him down for the time being, but he still stares at his friends like they weren't of this world. He wasn't sure to be really impressed or really concerned about how well they were assimilating.

"Boy that Grandpa Fenton is an enabler!" Sam continues, "You should see him over there by that punch dish. Jazz's friends are _well _acquainted. I don't think he cares how old anybody is either."

Tucker squints, "That kid looks 12." he says, referencing the stick-figure like boy clad in a green jumpsuit chugging two red cups at once and cackling loudly.

"I know right? Family friendly!" Sam gleaned.

Danny gapes. "He never offered me any." He mutters.

Tucker and Sam look at each other, then collapse into each other's arms, sharing an intense look. They direct it back at Danny, cheek to cheek. "What!" Tucker cries.

"The insolence!" Sam echoes,

Tucker looks back at Sam, "Are we going to have to make Danny some memories." he asks, low, serious, but also with a face slipping grin on his face.

Sam nods somberly.

"What, what, what! No!" Danny shrieks, reeling back. "I don't even know why Mark over there is getting any! Green-suit equals ok! I used to have a green suit! I'm not—"

Sam swoops in with a hand over his mouth, flipping him over in something like a tango dive. She looks deeply into his eyes.

"Shush."

"Is it possible that our Danny was too much of a goodie-two shoes?" Tucker implored.

"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps." Sam purrs.

Danny struggles.

Inglorious drunkenness or not, this is the part where Danny is dragged over the punch-bowl, kicking and screaming, and nearly dunked by the head into the giant bowl. They only resist because of a single hand Grandpa Fenton puts on the backs of each Sam and Tucker. He has a better idea. They listen to his idea instead.

From the bowls of Grandpa Fenton's smock comes a very special looking ecto-blaster. So potent that every kid in a 5 meter stopped motionless to see the weapon being procured. Grandpa studies the device for a moment, and then goes for the side of it where he pulls out a very small compartment, and within it, he unravels an unexpected fire hose.

He pulls the whole thing out and puts one end into the punch bowl, the other end into the hands of Sam Manson.

He gestures to the youths to continue. Sam sends off a wicked grin Danny's way, who quivers.

This is when Sam really does unleash hell in the form of a high pressure spray of mostly vodka on to a screeching Danny. Tucker is on the floor laughing during this time, and chaos resumes around them as cousins are either trying to get out of the way or in the way, depending. Danny screeches while just trying to get away and Sam cackles. Only when the punch is nearly gone does she let off, and give the hose back to Grandpa Fenton, grateful. He lets Danny have it one more time before taking the hose out, chuckling.

"Having fun yet!?" Sam yells over, still wheezing from laughing so hard.

By this time Danny looks almost exactly like a drowned rat, and he's scowling darkly in response. Sam goes over to him and sniffs him, recoiling back, but then slinking closer.

"It's called playing the part," She mutters in his ear, and then in a surprising turn, nips the ear.

Danny goes scarlet. "Playing?" He asks.

"Yes, very intense, active, method-acting, don't you know?" She looks at him, suddenly very serious, and very sober. Incredibly sultry, also. Danny would gulp if he wasn't so sucked into her eyes that it would break the moment. "Don't want them to get suspicious," She says, impossibly softer.

"No—no," He stutters, she stops, stares at him for a moment. He gathers himself, "Don't. I mean, don't want them to know." He smiles. "We're so hammered right now we don't care about that sort of thing." He says a little too loudly and unconvincingly.

Then she melts her lips into his, and they sag backwards together. They move together, crushing and feeling, and it feels impossibly good, and impossibly _right _under their guise of debauchery. They pull apart for air, after so long. Truly dazed looks looking back at one another.

"Wanna steal the couch?" Sam asks out of the blue, still fluttery.

"Oh yes,"

And that's how Danny and Sam staggered, holding hands, though the terrifying hordes of his extended family and savagely claimed the couch for their own, where they lay together, making out like a pair of honest-to-god teenagers.

Across the room the birthday girl looked like she wanted to faint.


End file.
